


One More Day of Sun

by i_kinda_like_writing



Series: Would It Be a Sin [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prequel, Self-Acceptance, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_kinda_like_writing/pseuds/i_kinda_like_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The serum will cure you of any and all maladies.<br/>Maladies. Illnesses. Sicknesses. Perversions?</p><p>Steve will be cured of everything that's wrong with him, but doesn't that mean that his love for Bucky will be cured too? And if not, what the hell does that mean?</p><p>Steve decides to figure it out for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Day of Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I promised a prequel to The Bed I'm Lying in is Getting Colder and here it is! The sequel, as many of you requested, is also complete and hopefully will be posted in the next couple of days.  
> Whenever I read Steve being completely alright with his sexuality, I always get really confused, because, in the environment he grew up in, I highly doubt he was okay with liking guys the way he does. This is my interpretation of how he eventually does come to terms with himself.  
> Sadly, we know his self-revelation isn't shared with Bucky. Hopefully, the sequel will make it all better!  
> Title is from Local Natives' "Ceilings".

          The ceiling is void of any crack, the surface annoyingly intact. Neither a water stain nor stray mark mars the dull beige color that Steve stares at while he should be sleeping. It bothers him, this perfect ceiling, though he’s not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s because he never had a perfect ceiling to stare at on sleepless nights ever in his life.

 His first ceiling, in a fairly nice apartment his mother only afforded because of his father’s savings, was a nice ceiling. His room was a light blue color, though to him it was a fairly light grey, but there was a little pattern to it. Several squares by several squares and nights when Steve was up with coughing fits, he could count the shapes, make new ones out of the lines, or imagine elaborate adventures in which the lines starred as terrain.

          The second ceiling was from the drafty one bedroom apartment that fit his mother’s salary. This ceiling really was grey, so Steve didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything, and there were numerous imperfections to occupy his lonely nights with until morning. A water stain in the corner spread halfway down the side of the ceiling before diluting down to small brown dots. On the far side of the ceiling was a crack that spanned half of the ceiling’s entire surface area. Each line of the crack was unique, which Steve loved; like every one carved its own place without being bothered by another. It was a metaphor that went over his head at the time, but now he can appreciate the irony.

          His third and final ceiling was the apartment he shared with Bucky. There his only sleepless nights were due to illness, and usually Bucky stayed up with him on those, but once in a while he’d have to tough it out alone because Bucky had a job. That ceiling was almost perfect, but a smattering of black dots in the corner of the room closest to Steve’s bed kept it from achieving that title. At first the severe shade of the marks was worrying, but eventually they became comforting. Something that never changed; something to ground him.

          He assumes that’s why the ceiling in the quiet basic training barracks is distressing him so much. There isn’t anything to distract himself with. And oh, there it is. That’s why he’s so upset; he needs a distraction and the ceiling offers none. The distraction from what tomorrow will bring.

          Tomorrow Steve will be cured of every ailment he has. He will be able to perform like normal men, be an actual soldier, and maybe even be better than most. Everything he’s ever wanted his whole life will be given to him tomorrow. His outside will finally reflect what he feels like on the inside. He will be a good man who can actually defend himself and others without being knocked down several hundred times. This should excite him more than anything else.

          So why is he so nervous?

          _The serum will cure you of any and all maladies._

          Maladies. Illnesses. Sicknesses. Perversions?

          He hates himself for it, but that’s what worries him the most. Ever since he was 12 and accidentally got an erection while play-wrestling with Bucky, Steve’s known he’s had a sickness no amount of medicine can cure. It’s the kind of sickness that can’t even be diagnosed; the kind that isn’t spoken about, not in full voices. It’s the kind of thing that’s whispered in secret with derision or disgust about someone who’s either dead or in jail. Steve knew this from the time he was 9 and got called a queer for standing up for another skinny guy like him getting beaten up.

          No amount of praying made it go away, so Steve resolved to live with it quietly for the rest of his, expectedly short, life. His perversion was never to be spoken about. Sure, sometimes in the summer Bucky would take off his undershirt and Steve would spend a minute too long staring or Bucky would grin and Steve would go mushy eyed in a second. But Steve was good at hiding it; at least, he thought he was.

          Then one night in their shared bedroom Bucky was cleaning up Steve’s cut up cheek after a particularly nasty fight with a crude man a couple blocks away, when Bucky said some throw-away comment about not being able to lose Steve ‘cause he cared about him too much. Earlier Bucky had made him down something that was supposedly going to help with pain, which was probably at least 75% the reason Steve pushed himself forward and kissed Bucky smack on the mouth.

          From then on, they were together in the most intimate way two people could be. In the quiet of night they loved each other with their hands, their mouths, acting on the impulses people said were wrong. Oh, but in the moment, it never felt wrong, couldn’t have. But in the light of day, when they loved each other with only their hearts for fear of being discovered, Steve knew it was wrong and was filled with hatred of himself and guilt at dragging Bucky into it too.

          Here he is now, though, in the dark of night and for some reason desperately hoping that those maladies don’t include his love for Bucky. But how couldn’t they? It’s the worst kind of sickness there is because it not only goes against the laws of nature, it goes against God. The serum will take away any horrible desire Steve has to love Bucky more than just a brother with any part of him. It has to.

          That’s what Steve thinks about now; what it will be like. He’ll probably be able to find a dame eventually, maybe not one who will love him for being more than a genetically enhanced soldier, but she’ll love him just the same. Bucky will move on easy; he could get a dame at the drop of a hat. Yes, Steve knows Bucky loves Steve like Steve does him, but he also knows at least a part of it has to be Bucky taking pity on his poor best friend who can’t find a girl to kiss. Bucky will be fine, Steve tells himself fiercely, he won’t have Steve dragging him down anymore.

          But will Steve be okay? Sure, he won’t love Bucky anymore, but he’ll still have that ache, won’t he? An emptiness that used to be filled with this awful wonderful feeling that currently resides in the spot just under Steve’s sternum. That will be empty when his love for Bucky is gone. Will he still be the good man Erskine thinks he is with that emptiness? Or will the hollowness eat him up, yearning for something to fill it even though it knows nothing but Bucky will suffice?

          Too many questions without answers. He’s not being rhetorical, Steve quietly tells God, any answer would be helpful. When God provides no response Steve sighs, covering his eyes with his hand since the ceiling is of little use. Tomorrow at this time, he will either love Bucky or not love Bucky. His best friend might only be that; a friend. There will be no desire to kiss, to touch, to _want_ in such a way after the serum is pumped through his veins.

          This information he knows to be true. Settling on an answer quiets the nervousness slightly, but one question still burns under his eyelids, keeping him from sleep.

          Tomorrow at this time, Steve Rogers will be big and strong and fast, but will he really be Steve Rogers without loving Bucky Barnes?

 

*~*~*

 

          Things go too fast and too slow all at once. Seconds don’t have the same value anymore. One second will go by with a blink while the next one will hold long enough to be considered one of the cartoons played before a picture show. It doesn’t make sense, but really, none of it did to begin with.

          Quick seconds accompany his entrance to the secret lab. Having his picture taken, taking off his shirt, lying down in the machine, all quick. Then it stops, time almost freezing, coming slow like molasses out of the jar. His heart thumps loudly against the inside on his chest, fingers pulsing against the leather of the machine. It closes up, suffocating him, and he shuts his eyes tight to push away the gnawing feeling of panic.

          With his eyes closed, he can imagine its Bucky’s arm wrapped around his waist and not a restraint. The warmth of Bucky’s chest against his back, caged in by arms that are strong from days working at the dock; that was the only time Steve felt small in a good way. Safe, comfortable, _at home_ in Bucky’s arms. Steve makes himself at home in this claustrophobic coffin with Bucky there with him.

          The pain goes by in a flash, hardly even there before he’s stepping out of the machine a new man, seconds getting long again. Coffin was a good word for it; the skinny, weak-bodied Steve Rogers died in there and a broad shouldered, strong Steve Rogers emerged. His first thought as he tugs on the shirt offered to him by Agent Carter is if he still loves Bucky but before he can figure it out, time starts speeding up again.

          Erskine gets shot, Steve starts running through the streets of Brooklyn, gets shot at, goes swimming, and has a guy die in his hands. It goes by in a blur; test after test, sample after sample, meaningless words of science after more. The only thing Steve can think of is the life draining out of Erskine’s eyes and how cold he felt in that moment. Colder than any winter Steve ever went through.

          Finally, finally, after everything’s over and he might be fighting for America but he might not, you never know with politicians, Steve finds himself alone in a hotel room bed the SSR set him up with almost a week later. This ceiling is kind of marred, but at the moment he doesn’t need a distraction.

          A familiar coil of heat stirs in his lower abdomen, surprising him even though flashes of it have been hitting him all week. Apparently, the libido of his new body is exponentially higher than it used to be. Steve ignores it as long as he can, trying to put off the inevitable, but then it gets painful and he gives in. He curls the fingers of his right hand around his hard length, marveling a little at the change in size. His first thought is, stupidly; Bucky will like this.

          His eyes snap open.

          Does that mean…?

          He closes his eyes again, picturing Bucky’s cocky smirk, the one where the left corner of his mouth raises up, showing a little of his teeth, and his eyes crinkle around the corners like he’s  really smiling even though he’s not. Steve’s length twitches in his hand.

          Once again stupidly, Steve finds himself grinning ridiculously at the imperfect ceiling. The serum didn’t cure him all the way, at least not with this. He’s surprised at how pleased he is, how relieved. It doesn’t matter; he still loves Bucky the same way, nothing can make that into a bad thing.

 

*~*~*

 

          Of course, as the days of tour leave him a decent amount of downtime, Steve starts pondering the implications of not being cured.

          Everything else, every illness or defect, is gone. He’s as healthy as, if not healthier than, any other man on the planet. The serum cured everything else except his love for Bucky. It has him wondering… is it even an illness at all?

          Everyone says it is, at least, the loudest people talking are. If you are attracted to people of the same gender, there is something inherently wrong with you. Faulty wiring, a mistake, just another problem like his asthma, something that held him back from being a full human being. But right along with that, is that it’s something that can be fixed. Faulty wiring can be replaced, a mistake can be repaired, and asthma will disappear if you undergo a highly experimental procedure conducted by the SSR.

          Like his asthma, his desire for Bucky should be gone.

          Yet his heart still swells when he thinks of how there would always be a hot meal for him and a smile when he got home from a long day trying to get work, how Bucky would wrap him up in his arms and they’d just sit for hours, not needing more than the assurance of the other’s body heat. His fingers still itch to draw Bucky’s perfect jawline, caress the lines lovingly as he scratches them into paper. Those mornings when he wakes up and forgets Bucky isn’t there next to him with his hair sticking up in every different direction and lines from the pillow still pressed into his cheek Steve feels like an anvil sits on his chest, keeping him from getting up. The coil of heat just gets hotter when Steve thinks of Bucky’s lean biceps, his toned stomach, or his strong calves.

          Steve loves Bucky just as much now as he did then, serum or no serum. If the serum fixed everything else it has to mean…

          But how could people be so wrong about it? If Steve’s attraction isn’t wrong or a disease and it definitely doesn’t make him broken than how could so many people get this thing so mixed up in their heads? Even the Bible says it’s wrong, and the Good Book has gotta be right, right? No, no somehow all those people, all those books, even The Father got it wrong.

           Being the way he is isn’t wrong in the slightest. Love is good, no matter if it’s between a man and a woman, a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. Love is one of the best things a person can have on this Earth and Steve’s got it. That, he is completely sure, isn’t- couldn’t _possibly_ be- wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, so leave one or both if you think I deserve it!


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